The Marriage of Sir Gwaine
by Feste the Fool
Summary: Sure, magic is free now. That doesn't mean life is perfect. Stuff happens...like crazy elves making curses and old crones out for royal husbands with perfect hair, and maybe royal husbands being okay with that...Retelling/Merlinization of "Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady"/"The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle." Third story in the "World of Secrets."
1. Gomer Somer Jour

**Disclaimer: Merlin the show is not mine. The characters of Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Ragnell, Gromer, and company are all public domain, however, as is the story being retold, and I will happily claim and torture and squash and cuddle them to my heart's content. So there. **

**Well, here we are, as promised, a return to the reconciliation/Merlinization of the original legends. A proper story this time, one I promised at the very beginning: Secrets Strike III: The Wedding of Sir Gawaine and Dame Rangelle. Not sure how quick this will be updated, as it is still for the most part in progress and while I've got all the plot points fixed, I'm still playing with format and debating about including a Reconciliation chapter at the end. Meh. We'll see.**

**Enjoy!  
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* * *

"There's a phrase rattling about in my head just now…"

"_Really _Merlin? Because there's one in mine, too."

"I wonder what it could be."

"Merlin."

"Four words, four very familiar words…"

"Mine's only three."

"Let's see…_I told you so! _That's it! _OW! _What'd you kick me for?"

Arthur smirked at his Court Magician. "My phrase was 'shut up, _Mer_lin. I decided my foot could say it better."

The warlock rubbed his leg where the bound king had kicked him and looked for the millionth time at their surroundings. "Your foot isn't very eloquent, and it doesn't change the fact that _I told you _this was a bad idea and you didn't _listen._"

Some things never changed. "I was too listening," Arthur said, rubbing the ropes around his wrists against the bone bars of their cage in an attempt to loosen his bonds. "I just chose to go that way anyway. You said you needed to go to the Valley of the Fallen Kings."

Merlin sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose—for some reason, their hooded captor had not tied him up. "I said I needed to _examine _the Valley of the Fallen Kings, with a team of specialized sorcerers, a batch of protection and anti-curse charms, and Freya. Running blindly into the Valley of the Fallen Kings while being chased by a pack of wyverns is _not exactly what I had in mind. _Ow, would you _stop doing that?_"

"Maybe if you'd shut up the first time," Arthur said, rolling his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the cage. "Why don't you try breaking us out again?"

The warlock shook his head. "It won't work."

"Because the bones absorb magic," Arthur said before he could, then peered a little more closely into his best friend's face. "Are you all right, by the way? You look a bit pale."

A shrug of his shoulders did nothing to calm the king. "I'm fine. Hanging from the ceiling in a witchtrap just isn't exactly my first choice of holding cell, that's all. Turn around and I'll see if I can't try to undo those ropes."

"Because it worked so well the other six times," Arthur muttered, but he scooted around until his back was facing Merlin. He heard his friend sighing and a rustle of cloth as he moved closer. Then came the shadow-feeling of hands almost but not quite touching his. Then the feeling of heavy, weighted, clumsy hands fumbling over the ropes around his wrists. Arthur frowned, alarm bells going off in his head.

As ridiculous and disturbing as it sounded, he knew Merlin's hands better than did Merlin himself. It had only been six months, after all, since the man became Arthur's Magician instead of his manservant, a position he'd held for nearly a decade. All that time he'd helped Arthur dress and undress, put on and take off armor, adjust cloaks, smooth wrinkles, comb hair, and shave. When Arthur was injured, Merlin was always the very first to know and start bandaging, and when Arthur was discouraged, it was Merlin's hands on his shoulders. Merlin's hands were more familiar-feeling than his own—he only knew Gwen's better. And this was not fine-Merlin's hands pulling at his wrists. Fine-Merlin was deft, light-fingered, and quick from always catching things he dropped. Fine-Merlin had tried to untie the ropes for what seemed like hours when they'd first woken up in the cage. These leaden, awkward fingers belonged to dead-on-his-feet-Merlin.

"You're not fine," he said quietly. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"No," said an unfamiliar voice from outside the cage, making them both jump and flee for the other side of the cage. "He's just a creature of magic." The man stepped from the shadows and walked toward them. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short, and had broad shoulders and huge brown eyes. He had light brown hair, sleeked back somehow, but not greasy looking. His face was round, but looked…pointed, somehow, too. Probably the chin. He smiled at them, a manic and unnerving smile. "The cage absorbs magic and he _is _magic, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur recovered quickly at that, growling softly and opening his mouth to say something insulting. Merlin's leg brushed against his back as he did—the king had fallen sort of sideways when they'd startled. "I'm fine, Arthur," the warlock breathed, the words reaching his friend's ears only. "Truly."

He wasn't sure if that was the absolute truth, but it satisfied him for now. He struggled to sit back up as best he could with his hands tied behind his back. "Who are you?" he demanded in his very best "your majesty" voice. "What do you want?"

The man pursed his lips, then shrugged. "I haven't really decided yet. I'll probably kill you, I think. Depends on if I'm angry enough or not."

The king glanced at his magician, making a face. "Angry about _what, _exactly?"

"You taking over my lands," he said, staring evenly at them.

"Your lands?"

"This valley." He gestured around the broken down home, hidden in who _knew _what way, since the Camelot men had been unconscious when they were brought here. It belonged to our family before the Purge, and it's belonged to me ever since the Apple Queen's ascension. I don't care who you are or how powerful you are. You can't just swoop in and expect to _own _it."

Arthur was thoroughly confused now. The Valley of the Fallen Kings hadn't belonged to _anyone, _as it turned out—Uther and Carleon used to spat over it every once in a while, because the documents regarding its ownership had been either lost or confused for generations. When it turned out the whole valley was just a masterless patch of land, Queen Annis had graciously retracted her claim as a thank you for helping Carleon through the harsh winter. Which is why Merlin wanted to go to the Valley, to figure out if the land was really cursed.

And then Merlin began to _laugh. _"It's elf ground," he said, his voice a thick with humor and stronger than it had been before. "That makes _so much _sense. Elf ground, defending itself against trespassers all this time. You're an elf. If I concentrate I can smell the smoke."

That's when Arthur realized that, being that close to Merlin with his magic being sucked away, he'd been smelling smoke and cut apples since he woke up. Maybe it was his own magic the warlock smelled. He took a deep breath to be sure. Beyond Merlin's own light, cheerful, autumn-y scent there was something…darker. A strong, heavy smoke, like a house on fire. Ah. And that meant _elf? _

The elf laughed with Merlin. "Very good, Emrys. Yes, I am an elf. My name is Gromer Somer Jour."

"Well that's unfortunate," Arthur muttered, shooting a playful look behind him.

"I don't see why," said Gromer Somer Jour, inciting a giggle from the Once and Future King. "The point is that this valley is elf ground, and the Jours will not give it up without a fight."

Arthur scoffed. "It'd be a quick fight. We've got Lord Emrys and Lady Freya Vivienne on our side."

Gromer Somer Jour's lips twitched into a malicious smirk. "Yes, and you can see what a challenge it was for me to incapacitate Lord Emrys and hide him from the Lake Lady's vengeance."

The king went pale, suddenly realizing his danger. He nudged Merlin with his elbow. "Got any bright ideas, Lord Emrys?"

Merlin nudged him back. "So, Gromer," he called. "How long can you stay in a room with a witchtrap? The restraints meant to keep the absorption in the circle carved on the bottom, but they're not foolproof. It's paradox-magic, building something to block enchantments, and there's always a loophole."

"It's my trap, Emrys," Gromer Somer Jour snapped, eyes flashing. "I think I know where the weaknesses are, and I assure you, you can't get at them."

"These things were meant for mundies to use," he went on, leaning on Arthur a bit. "And this one's a bit shoddy on top of that. It's sucking you dry, almost as much as it is me. What are you going to do about that?"

The elfman's face twisted into a snarl and he rushed several steps closer before getting control of himself again. Arthur was glad—for a minute, he'd looked less like a human and more like a monster. "I told you. I'm going to put up a fight." He picked a long pole up from an extremely messy, lopsided desk and approached the cage. He undid the lock with the pole and tipped it down. The large door snapped open and the Camelot men (Arthur shouting in surprise) tumbled out and fell three feet to the floor, landing in a small pile.

The king rolled away from his magician, but rolled back fairly quickly as Merlin began gasping for breath and clutching his chest. "Merlin!" he cried scooting closer and cursing the elf and the ropes that still bound him.

"—Fine—" the warlock choked. "—Out—of the trap—good—in a—minute—"

"He'll be fine," Gromer Somer Jour said with a bored yawn. "He just needs a good night's sleep. _You, _on the other hand, are going to need more than that."

He surprised the king, striking his ribs with the staff and knocking the wind out of him. He pulled Arthur from the floor by the collar of his shirt and began mumbling an incantation. Merlin tried choking out a spell, any spell, to distract the elf, but he was too drained, his magic too scattered. Arthur shivered as the spell hit him, feeling like he'd been dunked in a river in the dead of winter.

"What was _that?" _ he asked as he was dropped back onto the floor, his knees weak.

The elf smiled again. "I told you I was putting up a fight. It can't be your kind of fight because I'd have no chance, and it can't be my kind of fight, because you have no magic. This is a compromise." He knelt down beside the king, fighting his bonds, and the warlock struggling to stay awake. "I've just _cursed _you, Arthur Pendragon, King of Albion. Your task is to find the answer to a question and return to me to answer it within two months' time. If you do, you win, the land is yours, and I will leave. If you don't return, or if the answer is wrong, the curse will kill you."

"You miserable—" but before Arthur could finish the colorful curse forming in his head, the house, elf, and cage began to dissolve around them. Within seconds they were lying on the grass in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, staring up at the twilight sky, the sounds of the knights calling for them nearby.

"_Two months, King Arthur," _a ghostly voice whispered in his ear. He coughed, suddenly feeling a little tight of breath.

"Merlin?" he called, voice hoarse.

A second of silence, then: "…yeah?"

"You hear that?"

"…Yep."

"You all right?"

"I will be." The warlock groaned and clambered to his feet, swaying dangerously before helping the still-bound king to stand as well. "Let's go find someone with a knife and more than half a working brain."

* * *

**End of chapter one! Let me know what you think! Drop me a line, let me know if you like it so far (or not, which I'm perfectly happy to get, too). Or leave me some recommendations or lines/gags you'd like to see (seriously, I've used those lines before). It doesn't take long. Plus it makes me feel insanely good, and I'm having a bad week. **


	2. The First Woman That Comes To Mind

**...Wow. So I started this chapter thinking it was going to be the shortest of the bunch and now I'm afraid it's the longest. Also, the mushiest. If you like romantic drivel, this is where it'll be. Basically, VERY little actual plot in here (that'll pick up big time next chapter) and a lot of teeth-rotting sugar. I guess we're all entitled every once in a while.**

* * *

"What, that's it?" Elyan asked, leaning into Merlin's side as the warlock's eyes head drooped again. "The house just vanished and there you were?"

"There" was now just a memory; Arthur and Merlin, half-supporting each other, had quickly caught up with the others and hurried out of the Valley of the Fallen Kings as fast as Percival could carry the protesting but weak as a kitten magician. They were back in Camelot now, in a cozy study converted from a disused bedroom. Merlin, although he'd slept (read: passed out) on the way back, was still weary from his extended visit in the witchtrap. He was sitting on the floor in between Elyan and Gwaine, all but dozing on the second man's shoulder while Arthur related to the Round Table what had come to pass.

"Yes," the king said, squeezing Gwen's hands again. "I can't really explain it, and I'm not sure how I'll get back…I suppose Merlin will know."

Everyone glanced at the warlock. He'd perked up when Elyan moved, but not for long. Now his eyes were just partly open and a string of drool was threatening to drop on Gwaine's tunic. "He'll be fine," Gaius said in answer to their unasked questions. "He just needs to reconstitute. I've already sent a note to Freya. She can help speed things up a bit."

"What about you, Arthur?" Leon asked. "Are you all right?

Tristan nodded. "Yeah. Are we sure this curse thing is even real?"

"Very," Galahad said from the chair nearby, his voice bright but his eyes grim. "Elf curses have a way of stinking like rot and dark smoke. No offense, of course, sire. And don't bother asking Merlin to fix it. They're two different kinds of magic. They'll only bounce off of each other."

Gwaine looked at Arthur with a sort of horror and pity, which was horrible. "…So you've got two months to live if we don't find the answer to this question?"

Arthur nodded and Percival, pacing behind him, growled in frustration. "We don't even know what the question is," the big knight said through gritted teeth. He was Curiosity, after all—knowing there was an answer to be found when he didn't know the question was driving him _crazy. _

"Actually, I do know the question," the king said quietly, staring at the floor. "I think he sort of…left it in my mind as he let us go. I don't know how I know it, I just do. And yes," he added, voice growing peevish as Gwaine smirked at him. "I am very aware of the fact that that's the kind of statement I'm always making fun of Merlin for."

"What is it, Arthur?" Gwen asked, swallowing thickly. Her eyes hadn't left her husband's since he'd told them about the curse.

The king hesitated. "…Sorry…I sort of feel like my time won't start unless I say it out loud."

Galahad leaned forward and sniffed the air around Arthur. "It's a nice idea, but that's not the way it works. The curse is definitely already in place."

The queen made a small noise, and Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Gwen," he muttered. "We'll work something out."

Merlin started snoring lightly. Gwaine jerked his shoulder up and the warlock woke with a start. "…Huh?" he asked, blinking and rubbing his mouth. "What's going on?"

"You wanna help Arthur or not, mate?" Gwaine asked, glancing at the damp material of his tunic in mild disgust. "He's going to tell us what it is we're searching for."

Arthur bit his lip and glanced at Gwen. "Don't laugh," he said, closing his eyes. "…The question is…what do women want the most in the world?"

Percival froze in his pacing and Gwen blushed deeply. "…Well, that's that," Elyan said, staring up at the ceiling. "You're doomed."

"Elyan!" Gaius snapped as Gwen went three shades paler and Arthur shot him a death glare.

The Crown Prince of Cameliard ducked his head in apology, but didn't appear to be that repentant. "Well how are we supposed to figure that out, anyway? Who knows what women want at _all _let alone _most_?"

Now Gwen was glaring at him. "Uh, _women _do, Elyan. You could maybe _ask _some."

Merlin was snoring on Gwaine again, but the knight didn't notice. He was too busy grinning maliciously, a keen light shining in his eyes. "This could be fun to research, don't you think? I'll get started at the tavern right away."

Everyone groaned except Arthur. "…I almost wouldn't mind," the king said. "In fact, I want all of you to ask every woman you come across. Write the answers down. I'm not sure what the elf is looking for, but I'm not taking a chance that we'll miss it."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "I'm proud of you, Arthur, for taking this so calmly and seriously, what with it happening so soon after the ban's been lifted."

"Gaius, I can _feel _the curse," the king said, shaking his head. His eyes were wide and he was aware he was about to sound a little weak, but he figured he deserved it. "It's like…a hand squeezing my heart. I have _no _doubts whatsoever that Merlin will be able to do nothing for me and that I will die if I don't return to the silly-named man in two months. I'm not about to take that chance."

The wicked light faded from Gwaine's eyes and even Galahad looked upset and frightened. Percival dismissed himself first, running to his room to find paper and quill. The others followed after him, save Gwaine, who very much wanted to go to the tavern to do some…research, but couldn't with Merlin sleeping on him. "Uh…" he said, glancing around.

Gaius stepped forward. "You can help me take him to his tower, Gwaine," he said, shaking the warlock's shoulder. Merlin groaned, not entirely asleep or awake, and the two of them half dragged him away.

* * *

Alone, Gwen wrapped her arms around Arthur's chest and buried her face in his crook of his shoulder. "Oh, Gwen," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I'll be all right. All the times my life's been in danger from something attacking the city, I think answering a single question will be a breeze."

She sighed, but did not move. "I hope you're right. I have no desire to rule Albion by myself."

He smiled and held her close. "Incidentally, dear, what _do _women want the most?"

Gwen hummed into his tunic, thinking. "Well…I can't speak for everyone…" She fell quiet again.

"…Yes?"

"…What I want to most is to be happy," she said. "Not…shallow-happy, but truly and deeply satisfied with my life."

He bent his head so his lips just touched her hair and smiled. "And are you happy?"

Gwen released a muffled, hollow giggle. "I was until now."

* * *

After a fight that nearly ended in bloodshed over who would get the always-likeable Galahad as a squire, Arthur decreed the Round Table knights would take turns—especially because, as he had Merlin, which at the time didn't really seem to count for much, taking turns was the only way he was going to get the chance to get to know Lancelot's son. It was Elyan's week now, but the king's cursing meant the last thing on Elyan's mind was teaching knighthood and learning about magical history. When Galahad asked for a couple of days off, he'd said yes in exchange for a piece of flash paper (Galahad got free supplies from the market's premiere hedgewitch, because he'd used his visions to find out if the woman's husband was faithful or not—Gwaine's idea, and just another reason that Gwaine _never _got a turn).

Elyan had big ideas. This made him rather invaluable when it came to solving problems. The woman he thought of first was Gwen, because he preferred the company of his forge to any human being, and Gwen, besides being his sister, knew blacksmithing. That's when he got his big idea. It was a sure bet that every female in Camelot would be asked what women wanted the most within the week—so why not expand boundaries a little? He wrote a letter to his uncle and asked _him _do to the legwork instead.

All he had to do was open the window—he saw Percival on the streets of the lower town talking to anyone and everyone in a skirt as he did so—and read a book. Within an hour, the letters began pouring into his room as every woman and girl in Cameliard came to their prince's aid. The stream of mail slowed enough to allow him to go to sleep around midnight. Tomorrow he'd spend the whole day sorting through them by answer. If Galahad was back, that would be even better. If there was one thing he'd learned as royalty, it was _delegation paid._

* * *

Galahad, meanwhile, was out of Camelot and off to find the first woman he thought of when the question arose, the only woman he could possibly imagine to be wise enough to truly have an idea of what women wanted—the only women who had always known what she'd wanted.

He was going to the Lake of Avalon.

He was nervous, of course. The Lake should work. It was a direct link into Avalon, and that was what had always worked in Astolat. But the more time he spent in Albion, the more time he was realizing just how _different _Astolat was. Maybe it wouldn't work. There wasn't enough magic in the air of Albion to support an elf—maybe it couldn't support a spirit either. But Lady Vivienne had risen when she was needed…

Galahad shook his head and dismounted, tying Joya's reigns to a low-slung branch and walking to the banks of the Lake. He stared out across the mystic, picturesque waters for a moment. Then he licked his lips. "Mother?"

At first nothing happened and the boy thought he might cry. Then the lake shimmered and a not-quite-there image of his mother rose to Lake's surface. Galahad's grin stretched clear across his face as Elaine Corbenic walked toward him and held out a hand. "Hello, my handsome boy."

Galahad touched the specter's fingers. She wasn't solid, but she couldn't be anything else, either. It was like touching water when it wasn't wet (He knew that feeling well, too—Astolat was a _very _interesting place). "Hello, Mother," he whispered reverently. "It's good to see you again."

"And you. I see you made it to Camelot." Her smile widened. "Your father is _so _proud of you."

"He could have told me about the magic thing. I could have gotten Merlin killed," he said, not really angry, but not happy either.

Elaine chuckled. "We always thought Astolat's magic would be too hard to untangle. We're both so happy you're here."

"Me too, Mother." Galahad waded a foot into the Lake and embraced the specter. "I know you can't stay long. I just have a couple of questions."

She nodded. "I expect so. Gaius' letter threw Lady Vivienne into a frenzy, so naturally the whole land knows what's going on."

"Right," he said, stepping back but still clinging to his mother's hands. "So what do you know about the Jour family? It'll be in an elf clan."

"Very little," Elaine said. "The Jour family have been the caretakers of the Valley of the Fallen Kings since before it had that name. They're in noble clan, but that Gromer Somer man is a bit of an outlaw. Something about misuse of magic…he and his family got into an argument over how the land was to be run and something happened to his parents and sister…"

Galahad frowned. "Was that before or after the gates closed?"

"Before, I think…" she continued, then shook her head. "No, after. It was after. The younger ones were born during the early days of the Purge."

"No chance of his years being used up, then," he said, a little disappointed. "No other family?"

"You'd have to ask Lady Vivienne, but I don't think it would do any good. She's been speaking to some high ranking elf families recently and I think she's trying to fix something, but she hasn't been able to say what."

The young squire sighed as he felt the not-wet-water feeling fade from his hands. "All right, one more thing before you go."

She closed her eyes, which seemed to make her a bit more solid. "What is it?"

"…What do women want the most?"

Elaine frowned, a crease appearing on her forehead. "…A family, I think," she said, her voice growing fainter. "Brothers, sisters, husbands, cousins, children, friends…it doesn't matter. Just a family of some kind."

Galahad nodded. "Thank you, Mother. I'll remember. Tell Father that I and all the Table send our love."

"I will, Galahad," she said, planting a shadow kiss on his forehead before fading into the Lake entirely. The squire stood with the water lapping at his calves and soaking his trousers until a snort from Joya startled him out of his reverie. He brushed a few tears away and made his way back to Camelot.

And if he dropped an Avalonian apple blossom that had called out to him on the trail as he passed Isolde's grave and a silent Tristan kneeling there, neither of them were going to mention it.

* * *

Sir Leon had something that no other member of the Round Table had, with the possible exceptions of Gwaine if you counted siblings and Merlin if you counted the dead. Sir Leon had a childhood friend who was still his best friend today. And that was who he was going to see now, with a satisfied smirk on his face and a spring in his step. Because the first woman in Leon's thoughts was Camelot and the second was Lady Andrivete North. And whether or not his king was dying, any chance his busy schedule allowed him to spend time with the Norths was a happy one.

He let himself into the North manor without a second thought—he'd been in and out of the house since before he could walk, and a little thing like propriety doesn't count when you're practically family. He noted with interest the servants flurrying around the house, covering the hall with flowers and polishing the shields on the wall. He paused his journey to the back staircase long enough to kiss Lady North who pinched his cheek, bemoaned the fact that he hadn't been by in weeks, complained about the length of his hair, and enquired about his father Ector's health before shooing him along with a weary "She's upstairs, Leon, dear, and expecting company later, so mind you don't stay long." He grinned and took the stairs two at a time.

"_An_drivete," he cried mournfully as he approached the top, clutching his chest as if he'd been stabbed. "I _long _for you, I _pine _for you, I—"

"_I'm _tempted to push you back down those stairs, Leon de Kay," said the girl herself, casting him a look on mixed irritation and fondness as she struggled with a hair ribbon. "What do _you _want anyway? You know it's been a week since the last time you poked your big nose through our door?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You and your mother, both counting. Maybe I should skip a patrol and just sleep in your doorframe for a few days. Make you feel better."

"You might sleep better, too, than on some damp forest floor," she joked, jerking at a lock of hair. "I'm having a _little _trouble here, if you don't mind helping out a damsel in distress?"

He chuckled and took the proffered ribbon from her hand, skillfully plaiting it through her long yellow hair—a danger of being best friends with a girl was that you had to hide certain reluctantly-attained skills from your other friends. "Let's see," he said, turning her brusquely around by the shoulders and looking her up and down. "Flowers in the hall, your red danger gown, but no complicated hairstyle…which unfortunate knight have you fixed your attentions on for the evening?"

She colored and turned away, slapping his cheek with the end of the braid. "I don't see that it's any of _your _business," she called as she walked down the hallway toward her room. She paused at the doorframe. "But if you really _must _know, it's Sir Ivan."

Leon burst out laughing, trailing after her. "I_van? Really? _The one with the droopy chin?"

"He's got brilliant eyes," she countered, her own flashing before she disappeared behind the heavy wood door. "Don't come in. I'm fixing my dress."

Still chuckling, he leaned his back against the door. "I thought you liked strong jawlines. At least that's what you said when it was Lord Travis was the object of your desires."

"Travis was boring," she yelled back through the door. "Ivan is a _romantic." _

"Will he continue to be romantic with you stringing him along?" he asked. "Wait, what am I saying? I know Yvan. He knows your reputation. He wouldn't have come calling if he wasn't interested in playing your games."

"They are good fun." The door opened and Leon had to catch himself on the wall to stop from falling backwards. "Well, what do you want? You'd have sent a little more warning if this was an extended visit."

He straightened, growing as serious and sorrowful as he could with mixed thoughts of Camelot without a king and Andrivete wearing the "danger" dress that could make even _him _catch his breath. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but Arthur's in danger, and he will be unless we find the answer to a…question."

Her gaze sharpened. "What is it?"

Leon blushed. "…What do women want the most?"

Andrivete laughed, then stopped when he didn't join in. "…You are kidding, right?"

"I wish I was."

"Why are you asking me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because you're a _woman," _he said, gesturing vaguely at her. "And I assumed you knew what you _wanted. _Why _else _would I ask?"

She frowned. "You asked me because you thought I was…what, well-settled?"

"No, I asked because we're asking _everyone. _I'm going to ask your mother on the way out. Can you just answer the question so we can move on?"

Perhaps he'd said the wrong thing. Her face began to glow red and a teasing smile touched her lips. "Well, how am _I _supposed to know? You think just because I _happen _to be _female _means I know everything you could ever want to know about women?"

He felt his own cheeks warming. "I'm not one of your playthings, Ann," he said, cold. "Don't toy with me when there's something at stake." Leon spun on his heel and started down the stairs.

"Leon!" He stopped at the note of apology in her shout, but didn't face her. Her voice was suddenly timid. "…Women…want to believe there's more to life for us than sitting behind castle walls while men go off and have quests and may never come back or worse—" she broke off suddenly. "…Adventure. Women want adventure."

Something in Leon's stomach started to ache, and he made a note to see Ann first (and Father second and Arthur third) next time he had a brush with death.

* * *

Merlin did not wake until noon the next day. When he did it wasn't for long and he was very confused. There was something he was supposed to remember, something horrible and important—

Something soft brushed against his temple. He turned his head and relaxed. It was Freya, tucked into bed beside him, the sunlight shining through the window and turning her eyes green, as she pulled back from a gentle kiss. He smiled and rolled to the side to face her. "Hello, love," he muttered, entwining their fingers together.

"Merlin," she said edging closer. They'd been married for nearly three months now, although ruling Avalon and protecting England still kept them mostly apart. "How are you feeling?"

His eyebrows quirked together. "I'm meant to be feeling badly?"

"Weak. You got stuck in a witchtrap for hours, remember?"

"Right," he said, his eyelids blissfully closing again. Then they jerked open. "Arthur!"

Freya squeezed his hand, kissing his forehead. "Relax. Arthur's fine, for now. Everyone's fine, and you're not leaving this room until you can stand without keeling."

"Mmmm," he practically purred, feeling stronger already—she was lacing the kisses with magic, to replenish his faster, he could feel it. "There's a question…Something important…"

"Yes," she said, amusement dancing in the word.

"What…what…" He sighed. "Don't remember."

"What do women want the most?" Freya supplied with a grin.

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. What do women want the most?"

"To be loved and wanted for who and what she is," she answered immediately. "Who, man or woman, wants anything else?"

"Right…" He yawned as she kissed his nose. "Can I go back to sleep now? I'll be fine…"

The Lady of the Lake rolled her eyes with a fond smile. "Of course, Merlin. I'll be here."

He hummed again, reaching out and pulling her closer. "Love you," he breathed into her ear, already less than awake.

She smiled serenely and, despite it being midday, closed her eyes as well. It was always nice to take a good nap.

* * *

Business at the Rising Sun was booming. For one night only not only was the cap removed from Sir Gwaine's tab, but King Arthur was footing the bill. Sir Gwaine was not only getting very, very drunk, but getting everyone else around him very, very drunk as well. And there was something he kept asking, too, of everyone he bought a drink for.

"That's the rule," he slurred to a pretty young thing who walked in to fetch her father. "You answer a question, I buy you a drink. Well, girly? What do women want the most?"

He was lucky she even understood him, at this rate. She blushed and tittered a moment before answering _fine dresses. _The woman across the way, who'd answered twice already, insisted it was _jewels, _not _dresses, _that women wanted the most in the world. Several hiccuping men were answering, too, and the women didn't look too impressed with their answers. A barmaid, casting the knight bedroom eyes, insisted it was a strong and able lover that women most desired. Another woman, who also had eyes for the knight, glared at her and said no, it was a _husband, _not a lover, which started a catfight in one corner. The arguments went on and in the middle of it all, the Lord of Orkney passed out onto the table, utterly forgotten.

He would remember most of the answers in the morning amidst a pounding headache, and the hangover gave him a certain amount of sobering clarity. They were all different. Every. Single. Answer. There was no one thing that _every _woman wanted. It was always something different.

He swallowed both his hangover remedy (Mother's recipe, Merlin's handiwork) and his growing horror. He'd keep face, yes, but he was sure now. Elyan was right. There was no answer.

Arthur was going to die.

* * *

**About the reconciliations. How should I play this, because I do this for your edification. This whole thing is a retelling of "The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle," but there are other tidbits, too. Should I drop a note on legendry in-jokes as they come in each chapter a la "No More Secrets," or just stick 'em all in a "Reconciliation" at the end, a la "Secrets We Keep?" ARGH! *not good with decisions***

**And don't forget to review!**


	3. The Lady Ragnell

**REMISSION. The asterisk cancer went into remission shortly after I put up the new chapter of "Unto Albion." REJOICE. Also, who saw the first episode of the new season? I squealed. A lot. And I'm really super excited and the more I think about it, the more I think a story reconciling the new season with "Secrets" might not be as much work as I'm afraid it would be. Thoughts? **

**And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to Elfpen, who helped (beta'd? edited? suggested? RESCUED.) this chapter. Hopefully it lives up to your hopes, after the heavy editing in the middle. Thanks, always!**

* * *

Two days left. Two days until the elf curse would be complete. Two days until Arthur died and left Albion with nothing but a queen. Not that that was a huge problem, as Arthur had discovered in the emergency council meeting before they left for the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

The new manor lords had gladly sworn fealty to Guinevere and were obviously worried for their king's life…but they'd also got a curious look in their eyes when the newest map of Albion was unveiled, a look that the king didn't trust. And the old lords had looked murderous at the thought of a woman in charge of all that land, never mind that Queen Annis was doing well. _And what about the surrounding countries? _they'd all said. What would they do when they realized there was no king to lead Arthur's armies into battle? Albion was the largest country the island had ever seen, and the wealthiest, true…but it was by no means the only land with considerable power and ability. There was still danger everywhere, and Gwen, perfect queen that she was, had only _been _queen for almost three years of peace. She didn't have the experience to rule a land at war.

Albion needed Arthur.

And Arthur was losing hope.

Oh, they had answers. They had entire _books. _Geoffrey had been a _dream, _gathering all the answers the castle had collected over the last few weeks, picking out the repeats, and binding the answers into books. Books, plural. There were three of them, two very thick and one about half that size. Every woman in in the six provinces of Albion had been asked, some of them twice, and they were still no closer to finding _the _answer than they were before.

And their time was quickly running out.

The Round Table, or at least the young and able-bodied men of the Table, were now on their way _back _to the Valley of the Fallen Kings, two-and-a-half books in tow, hoping that one of them contained the answer that would prevent Arthur from being killed. "If he even accepts more than one answer," Elyan muttered under his breath as they set out. Merlin glared at him and muttered something angry and arcane under his breath. Elyan had saddle sores less than ten minutes into the ride.

They made camp near the Valley, intending to reread the books of answers for the thousandth time, trying to find something that popped out at them despite the fact that nothing ever did. They had divided into pairs; Leon and Gwaine at one book, Percival and Elyan at another, and Galahad and Merlin at the last. Every once in a while someone read a promising answer out loud, only to be shot down by his fellows. Arthur paced around the campfire, growing more distressed with every passing minute.

The curse was not making him ill, but it was making him uncomfortable. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, each steady thump bringing him that much closer to the confrontation of the next day. This could be his last night on earth. Many times he'd thought that over the years, but never had he come so close to believing it. No one could help him now. The only reason the others were here was because he didn't want to be alone when he died—well, that and they were all determined to rip Gromer Somer Jour to shreds when—if—their king died.

"Sire?" came Galahad's voice, breaking him out of his reverie. "Are you all right?"

Arthur blinked, suddenly aware of everyone staring at him. He hadn't noticed, but he'd stopped moving and had been staring into the fire for the last several minutes. "…Yes," he said. "I mean, no. Thirsty, is all. I think I'll go get a drink at that stream we passed earlier."

"…It's getting dark, Sire," Leon said, glancing up at the sky.

"I'll be back before it gets too bad," he countered, already heading away. He glanced back after a few minutes to be sure he wasn't being followed, then headed toward the stream. He needed space, to think.

He knelt by the stream and scrubbed his face in the cool water, breathing heavily. Worrying wasn't helping anyone.

"Why hello, Arthur Pendragon," croaked a voice nearby.

Startled, Arthur looked up—and when he saw who (what?) it was speaking to him, he yelled in alarm and fell on his behind in the dirt. The woman—if it was a woman—sighed and took a step toward him. He jumped up and drew the dragon sword, pointing it at her.

She rolled her beady eyes. "Oh, _please. _Can't you tell the difference between a threat and a friend? You're really going to point that thing at a harmless old woman like me?"

Arthur gulped and dropped the point into the ground, but didn't sheath the blade. The woman sniffed. "I suppose that'll have to be good enough."

She was by far the _ugliest _woman he had ever seen—including the troll his father had once married. Her skin was mottled brown and a sickly yellow, but her face was a bright red. She had a huge, bulbous nose that ran nonstop over her thick brown lips and great yellow teeth—she had an overbite like a boar. At least a triple chin wagged over a neck thicker than Percival's arm. She was short and wide as a barrel and had only a small, straggly mop of white hair that fell into her narrow black eyes. Yet she was dressed in clothing finer than much that Guinvere wore and her brown horse was bedecked with jewels and fine silks. The juxtaposition was disconcerting to say the least.

"…I'm sorry?" Arthur said, taken completely aback and a little afraid for his life. "You…startled me, is all. How do you know who I am?"

"What do you take me for, an idiot?" The woman rolled her eyes again. "If I'm traipsing around Albion, I'd better jolly well know who the king is, don't you think? And you're on your way to the Valley of the Fallen Kings to die."

The king stepped back—worried as he was, he still felt a rush of anger at the _thing _for saying it so bluntly. "_Excuse _me. I'm not going to _die." _

Before the woman could answer, the knights and Merlin bounded into view, weapons drawn and hands raised. "Sire, we heard—" Leon started to say, but was cut off with a horrible strangling noise when he saw the woman.

"_What _is _that?_" Elyan said, shooting a look at Merlin and Galahad; surely _nothing _that ugly could be naturally human.

The woman tossed her head, spraying the surrounding trees with bits of drool and snot. "_I _am a _who _not a _what. _I am the Lady Ragnell, and _you _are the knights of the Round Table, and Lord Emrys." She looked back at Arthur. "And _you _are going to Gromer Somer Jour."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up as he looked to his knights—with the exceptions of Merlin and Galahad, who were both peering intently at "Lady Ragnell" as if looking for something, they looked just as confused as he felt. "…We never told anyone outside of the Table what his name was. How could you possibly know that?"

"I know many things I shouldn't," she said. "I know the question you have been seeking to answer, and I know _I _was never asked. I know this because _I _know the answer."

The men looked at each other, then back at the hag. Should they believe her, or move on? Were they even sure it was really a woman? Percival spoke first. "…How do you know the answer? All the women we asked told us different things."

She smiled, showing more crooked, yellow teeth. It didn't seem to be a happy smile. "I am acquainted with Gromer Somer Jour. I know exactly what he's looking for."

Arthur sheathed his sword—if Merlin wasn't acting already, she wasn't a danger anyway. "So what is it? What do women want the most?"

"Ah, ah," she said, raising a finger and shaking it. "That's not the way it works, Arthur, King. Do you really expect me to just tell you? There is no such thing as a gift. You cannot get something for nothing."

Tristan nodded in agreement and hissed when Merlin nudged him. Arthur shot the pair of them a dirty look. "What is it you want from me, then?"

Ragnell sighed and urged the horse closer. The men made faces and leaned away, almost unconsciously—the old crone _stank. _"I am lonely," she grumbled sadly. "You can't understand what it's like, being alone. I want companionship."

The king's eye twitched at the thought of spending any more time than he had to with her. "All right, we can…we can take you to Camelot. Surely you can find a friend there."

"I don't want a _friend. _I want a _husband._"

The clearing exploded. Tristan began to cough violently, and Elyan reeled backward, a hand over his face. Leon looked sick to his stomach and backed away as well. Gwaine bit back a gurgle of disgust. Merlin recoiled a bit and would have done more, but Galahad's eyes sharpened on the woman and he began to breathe deeply despite the sickly smell radiating from her. Merlin glanced at him and frowned before turning back to the hag. Her eyes were suddenly _sad_—if eyes that watery and dark could contain an emotion, anyway, that's what Merlin would call it. Was that what Galahad was looking at? The boy always did have such bizarre ways of looking at people…

Arthur swallowed back a mouthful of bile. "Uh…I…I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," Ragnell said with a pointed glare and a sigh that sent a wave of rotten breath rolling over him. "I want a _husband._"

The only reason he wasn't throwing up by now was because _kings did not show weakness, curse it all, stay standing. _"…All right…well I'm sure we can find some…nice old man…" _Who was blind and had no nose…_

She laughed, a hollow, bone-chilling sound. "Oh, so you'll peddle me off to whatever old fishmonger will take me? I don't think so. Can't you see how high-born I am? Honestly, if you can't tell a Lady from a farmer's wench, you need to get out more often." She gestured at the bejeweled bridle in her hands. "I'll be no peasant's wife. I want someone of distinction, of status equal to my own…a knight of the Table. And of royal blood." She looked at the knights and grinned. Predatory. They all stepped back again.

Arthur's eyes automatically strayed toward Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival, who looked back at him with expressions of ardent _horror. _"I can't promise you to anyone, my lady," he said, his voice gentle and placating. "I threw off enough arranged marriages in my time to force anyone to marry against their will." And he would not, could not, promise any one of his knights, his _brothers, (_and sometimes he considered them his sons, too, though he'd die before admitting it) to a harridan like that.

"Fine," she said with a shrug. "Doom yourself. No skin off my nose." Another trail of snot dribbled onto her chin.

So far Merlin hadn't seen anything that could explain Galahad's sudden interest—no spell, no glamours, no curses. The Lady Ragnell was who she appeared to be. But why did the scrying squire seem so intent on studying her? He watched as Ragnell's gaze drifted to Gwaine—actually, she'd been looking at Gwaine more than any of the others this whole time. Why hadn't he noticed that before? What was so special about Gwaine? "You there," she snapped, pointing at him. "With the nice hair. What's your name?"

Gwaine winced. "Sir Gwaine."

She smiled again. "Awww, little Sir Gwaine? Or is it Lord Gwaine, who was until the death of King Lot and division of his lands, Crown Prince Gwaine ap Gywar of the Orkneys?"

He winced again. "What's it matter to you?"

She laughed again, a screech of delight this time. "Oh, you _are _Lord Gwaine, aren't you? You're handsome, highness, and very amusing. I think you and I would be quite well suited to each other."

Galahad's head jerked up higher, and he scanned the lady's face with even more intensity.

Gwaine blanched. "Oh, you don't want me, My Lady," he said, shaking his head and speaking perhaps a bit too quickly. "I'm a scoundrel and a drunkard. Ask anyone. They'll tell you the same."

Percival and Leon nodded, although Elyan looked dubious—he was a prince, too, and while she was fixed on Gwaine, he was safe. Tristan made a small sickened sound.

"No, I think you're the prince for me," she insisted, wiping the drool from her chin with a bloated, warty hand. "I'll take him, Oh King. Give me Gwaine ap Gwyar to wed and I'll tell you the answer to the question that will save your life."

As if someone had placed a spell on him, his so-called "brother knights" scattered from the ex-prince of Orkney, leaving him completely open to Ragnell's beady-eyed appraisal. Arthur snorted, trying to ignore the helpless, pleading looks Gwaine was giving him. "I can't just _give _you Gwaine! He can make his own choices about who he wants to marry!"

"I'm _not _in the marrying business, sorry," Gwaine muttered, leaning away from the woman. "I've never serious or loyal with a woman a day in my life. And I come from a bad background, too, you know. My mother wasn't loyal, either. Doesn't that say something about the way I could have been raised? You don't want me. I'll just follow Mother's footsteps."

Actually, that was a lie. Possibly. Probably. What not very many people knew about Gwaine—no one but Garis, in fact—was that he held nothing but the greatest respect for marriage. He didn't consider very many things as "wrong" or "sin," not a proper one, the way some of the other men did, but betraying a spouse was close to the top of his list. Marriage to the Lady Ragnell was a prison sentence, to a dungeon far greater than the most enchanted of cells.

The Lady Ragnell just shook her head at him, as if he were a child. "That's what I want," she insisted. "Marry me, Sir Gwaine. It's the only way to make sure you have the right answer."

"I wouldn't marry you if we were the last two people on earth!" Gwaine snapped, losing his temper in panic. He took a step closer to her, ignoring the stench. "Nobility isn't something you're _born _with, it's something that has to be _earned. _If you want a noble husband, you're looking at the wrong man, because to me, nobility is _dirt. _If you force me to do this, then _you're _dirt, you and all the titles you may or may not carry. They're nothing! I _will not marry you, Lady _Ragnell, be you lady or princess or _devil _itself!"

Ragnell's eyes grew harsh and cold, and her voice went sharp and desperate. "Then Arthur Pendragon will die. The court will weaken and the Table will break. The Dark Ones will rise and destroy all semblance of light. Albion will fall before it has properly risen and it will be _all your fault. You _will be responsible for the deaths of your friends and brothers, and all you've ever cared for, and I will ensure the world will hold you to that responsibility." She was practically yelling now, spraying Gwaine with spittle and snot. Her voice had…almost a sort of echo to it, a menacing sound that chilled the men to the bone. She settled down now, sitting up straight in the saddle, peering at him down her huge nose "The choice is yours, _Lord Gwaine._"

Galahad had crept forward, winced through the hurricane of spit, and grabbed Gwaine's elbow. "Gwaine," he muttered, tugging on the red-faced knight's arm. "Gwaine, please."

"What?" Gwaine growled, not taking his eyes off the woman.

"I just…I have a feeling," Galahad muttered, shooting a look in Ragnell's direction. "You trust me, don't you? Because this is important, and I'm sorry, but I think you should do as she says."

Gwaine spun to face the squire, thunder in his gaze. "What are you saying? You know this demon?"

Galahad shook his head, all nerves and innocence. "No, but it's for Arthur, Gwaine. It's for _Arthur. _We're always talking about how we would die for him. Maybe this is your turn?"

Arthur's eyes popped. "Gwaine, Galahad—"

"Shut up a minute, Queenie."

Merlin approached now, taking Gwaine's other arm. He didn't know what Galahad was playing at, but he did know what thing for sure. He didn't like it, but it had to be said. _"_Gwaine," he said softly. He waited until he had the knight's undivided attention before continuing. "Gwaine, you're one of my best friends. You're like a brother to me. But I've got a duty, just like you do. Now you're on one side and Arthur's on the other, and Gwaine, I'm _begging _you_. Don't make me choose." _

Figures. Threaten the country and the Defender of Albion turns against you. "Merlin I'm not going to marry that…_thing_,_" _he hissed, nodding in the hag's direction.

"Oh, don't insult both of us by suggesting you getting married to a woman like that would actually _mean _something," he hissed back.

Ow. Oh, _that _hurt. Gwaine blinked and said nothing, wishing his brother were there.

"Besides that," Merlin continued, regretting the hurt and betrayal in his friend's eyes but pressing on despite it. "How long's she going to live? She's old. You're be a widower before the year's out. Think about this for a minute."

He growled and looked at Merlin's sorrowful, unrelenting gaze and the hand curling into a fist on his chainmail sleeve. Then at Galahad's calculating, hopeful expression, then at the stunned men around the clearing. He took a deep breath, blinking back the prickly feeling in the corners of his eyes. Feeling as if he was signing his own death warrant, he turned back to the woman. "…Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I will marry you."

"Gwaine," Arthur started, his voice soft, but was cut off with a look.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Lady Ragnell answered. "You give me your word, your solemn vow that you will marry me?"

"I give you my word," he said, barely audible.

The woman nodded and, so fixed on staring at her were the knights of the Table that no one noticed the hiss of understanding from the squire of their number. The boy stood up straighter and gave the woman a shy smile that none but Merlin saw. The warlock bit the inside of his cheek and pulled the squire away from Gwaine. No one else moved as Ragnell dismounted from her horse—the ground sank a bit and the horse sighed in relief, and _sweet Camelot, she was a hunchback, too_—and waddled over to the king, trying to hide his aversion. All loathing was forgotten, however, as she leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up as he received the answer they'd all been looking for. "…That's it?"

"That's it," Ragnell said.

"Really? Happiness makes so much more sense…"

"It leads to happiness. Think about it."

Percival frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "_What is it? _What's the answer?"

The old crone shook her head. "Arthur knows. You can give Gromer Somer Jour all the answers you like. If he refuses mine and takes another, the deal is off and Gwaine goes free. If he _does _take mine…I'll be waiting on the road back to Camelot."

Gwaine swallowed, looking positively green. "Let's get out of here," he snarled, turning away from the hideous woman and heading back to camp. Elyan and Arthur followed behind, all too eager to get away from the woman. Percival frowned at Ragnell until it became clear she wasn't going to tell him what the answer was, then he and Leon trailed after the others.

Galahad hung around behind, and only part of the reason was Merlin's hand on his arm. When the other's were out of sight, he gave Ragnell a sort of half-bow, which the hideous thing returned with a curtsey and a wink at the warlock. Merlin shuddered and whispered in Galahad's ear. "What are you doing, anyway? What do you know?"

"Just look, just take a good look," the squire answered, nodding at the woman again.

Merlin turned around and stared into the woman's eyes, before feeling inexplicably drawn to the jewels on her saddle. He could see them better now that the lady had dismounted. Strange, the way they were arranged almost made them look like—Merlin gasped and looked back at her eyes. They were smiling, though her mouth was fixed in a line, her tusk-like teeth hanging over the fat lip. "Don't you two have somewhere to be?" the woman snapped, but it didn't sound…_mean. _It sounded almost _playful. _She grabbed the horse's bridle and led it back into the trees.

"…She's not human, is she?" Merlin muttered, comprehension dawning on his face.

Galahad shook his head. "I suspected from the beginning, but when she targeted Gwaine, I knew for sure. He's a _classic _spellbreaker, Gwaine is. Handsome, eldest-born prince of a powerful royal family that rules a large piece of land...even if he doesn't have magic, he could be used in a lot of it. She needs him for something. I just can't figure out what." He smiled again. "It reminded me of home in Astolat. I think she's setting up a fairy game.

"So what sort of game is this? What is she? What's she playing at?"

"I don't know," Galahad admitted, watching the horse and its rider vanish. "Feels like Avalon politics." Then, as if the idea had just occurred to him, he whirled onto Merlin. "We can't tell anyone, you know. You're not used to this kind of thing, but I am. We can't tell _anyone. _It'll ruin the game."

Merlin shook his head. "Never mind the _game, _Galahad. Arthur's _life _is at stake!"

"Apple blossoms on the saddle, Lord Emrys?" Galahad said with a withering look. "I don't think Gromer Somer Jour is part of it, and he may be dangerous, but do you really think Avalon is just going to let Arthur die? Don't say a word about _anything_. Just watch and see how it plays out. It's the most help we can offer, to anyone." He took the magician's arm and led him back to camp. Neither could resist one final look at the path the woman had taken into the underbrush.

* * *

**Reconciliations**

**Last chapters-in the actual story, Arthur was not bound by a curse by a promise. I think that's a little wimpy for the show. It's honorable and romantic, yes, but really, really stupid and I don't think Merlin would LET Arthur go back after a year if they knew he was going to his death. Yet another reason I'm stalling the Green Knight thing. Oh, and Arthur and company had a year to find the answer. That was a REALLY long time, so I knocked ten months off. I don't think anyone minds. Also, Andrivete-and all you people who told me you want to ship Leon/Ann now, you made my day. Andrivete was originally a princess of Northumbria/Northumberland with whom Sir Kay fell in love at first sight, back when he was one of Arthur's strongest and most loyal knights and not an angry churl. I was rather hoping you all liked her. More on her later.  
**

**This chapter: I usually NEVER write description like I did in this chapter, but Ragnell demanded it. Her description was inspired by the actual description of Dame Ragnell. Bleary eyes, yellow teeth, hunched back, wide as a barrel, the works. It was fun. And although most of the dialogue is original, there's a line about Ragnell being a devil or demon that originally went something like "though she be a fiend as foul as Beelzubub, I'll wed her." _Gawain _never actually saw Ragnell before agreeing to marry her on the spot-it would save Arthur's life, see, so he did it without thinking. There's a reason Gawain was considered the greatest of his knights.  
**

**Finally, thank you all, my wonderful readers, and I hope you enjoy. Oh, and be an enabler today! I'm still addicted to reviews. :)  
**


	4. The Trial of the King

**It's amazing how I can work and rework and rework a scene over and over again in my head and on paper and nothing sounds right, and then all of a sudden, POW. Sorry about the wait, but this reconciliation is a bit exhausting. **

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Gwaine was being avoided.

There was no other way to put it. The others had side-stepped him on their way back to camp, and Merlin and Galahad were the only ones not to scoot their bedrolls further away when they slept that night. Even the next morning, no one met his eyes as they packed up camp. He could understand their thinking he needed time alone. He did. But not this much time. Gwaine was a social creature. This…ostracism was making him feel worse than his imminent marriage. Possible imminent marriage. Always the optimist. Well, pragmatist. Well, happy drunk.

Though even he wasn't sure he could tolerate too much silence and too many more shifty, pitying looks in his direction. His hands tightened into fists as Elyan shot him the third guilty rather-you-than-me face in an hour leading the horses. The back of his neck prickled and he turned partly to see Merlin studying him, a look of intense concentration and bewilderment on his face, not noticing Galahad chuckling at him. Gwaine rolled his eyes and growled. "Aren't we there yet?"

"Nearly," Arthur said back, the word clipped. He glanced at the knight and quickly looked away. "You can see the entry up ahead, just there." He pointed to a dull bit of grey stone among the darker part of the forest.

Silence again. "What, no one has anything to say?"

He drew their gazes for a few more brief seconds. "Truthfully, mate, it's usually you doing the aimless prattling," Tristan said, though the humor in his voice was a bit strained.

"Gwaine," Leon said, quietly, "are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass. It's marriage, not death. You ought to be asking Arthur how he feels."

Arthur scoffed. "I'm not sure you want to know just now. We should probably find a place for the horses and go the rest of the way on foot." The others stopped when their king did, leading their mounts to a small clearing and fastening the reigns to a mossy, downed tree. He glanced at Galahad. "I suppose there isn't much point in me telling you to stay here and watch the horses, is there, du Lac?"

The squire gave him a serene grin. "Not much, sire, sorry. I want to know what happens, and I know elf magic better than Merlin."

"Rub it in," Merlin muttered, garnering a few tense laughs. He let his hand rest on the log and whispered a few words, his eyes sparking gold a brief moment. There was a strange, crisp smell and a ripple of wind. The horses startled, but Galahad caught his Joya's reigns and stroked the mare's nose—when she calmed, so did the others. Merlin nodded to the king. "They'll be fine."Arthur drew the dragon sword—better safe than sorry—and led the way through the underbrush.

The statues that marked the entrance to the Valley of the Fallen Kings looked more imposing than they had in Arthur's mind. Perhaps because this time he wasn't running away from death, but toward it. He could feel the curse more than ever now, an insistent and almost gentle pulsing in his blood, just before his heartbeat. Maybe on top of the heartbeat. It was uncomfortable and incited a horrible strangling sensation if he moved too quickly. If his friends noticed the strange deliberateness to his stride, they did not say anything. They passed under the statues.

Merlin suddenly blinked and stood up straighter, with a shiver. "…Merlin?" Percival said, looking at him sideways.

"Did anyone else feel that?" the warlock asked. He cocked his head and added, "Or hear that? Why didn't I catch it before?"

"Because you weren't looking, probably," Galahad said with a small smile, taking a deep breath. "That's elf magic, all right. Strong stuff. This Gromer Somer Jour may be crazy, but he's definitely powerful."

Leon frowned. "How powerful?"

"Powerful enough to build his own witchtrap," the squire supplied.

Merlin winced, and clarified. "Filthy powerful, in all senses. But do you see how it's gotten all quiet?"

The others grew still and listened. The mundane sounds of the forest, muted by their struggling down the overgrown path, had died all together. Tristan, closest to the border, looked thoughtful. He jogged a few steps outside the Valley, then came back in. He raised his eyebrows and repeated his movements. "…Huh," he said at last, drawing his blade.

"What huh?" Elyan asked, reaching for the hilt of his own sword.

"Woods are still loud out there," the ex-smuggler replied, gesturing beyond the statues.

Leon shivered and took an unconscious step closer to Merlin, Percival, and Galahad. If there was anything unnatural going on, that's where he wanted to be. "So how are we supposed to find him, anyway?"

Arthur examined their surroundings, his grip tightening on the dragon sword. "…When we met him the first time, we were just walking…" he said, taking a cautious step forward along the path. "And then…we were just there. It felt a bit like falling."

The other men shrugged. Percival took the first step after Arthur, followed closely by Gwaine and Merlin, and the others trailed along behind. One step, two steps, three steps—

_Thunk. _It did feel like falling, and landing on one's head, which would explain why Arthur and Merlin had been incapacitated long enough to get stuck in the witchtrap on their previous visits. The knights shook their heads, trying to clear their thoughts, weapons being alternately drawn and raised. Merlin and Galahad recovered first, Merlin out of desperation and Galahad because he appeared to be used to that sort of sensation. The warlock's eyes darted around the room, seeking out threats, while the squire stood and stretched, stepping over to finger the gruesome contraptions on the nearby workbench. He'd seemed much more at ease since he'd decided this was all a fairy game. Elaborate in Merlin's eyes, but almost comically simple compared to others he'd seen. "Ooh, older family, but recently dismantled. Stolen materials," he whispered to himself as he stroked an insignia on the bench and felt the familiar fingers-on-your-back feeling of lost things needing to be found.

"Galahad," Merlin hissed. The witchtrap had been dismantled, the powerless bits of it scattered across the floor. Gromer Somer Jour was also nowhere to be seen.

Elyan groaned and rubbed his temple, pulling the largest volume out from underneath him. "If that was elf magic, I don't want to have anything to do with it."

"Here, here," Leon said, cracking his neck and helping the fallen Percival to his feet.

Arthur jumped up as well, tugging Tristan up as he went. "Anyone hurt?" he asked, doing a quick head count. "Is everyone here? Where's Gwaine?"

"Behind you, Queenie," said the ex-prince, leaning against the wall and stretching. "You know, it's sort of awful at first, but then it feels like you've just woken up from a nice nap."

"I'm glad you approve, Sir Gwaine," said an oily voice from seemingly out of nowhere. A moment later and the knight's swords flew out of their hands to land across the room, well out of reach of even the fastest runner. The equally oily elfman flickered into view. "Can't have you lot getting impatient and trying to kill me," he said, glancing at the weapons on the floor behind him in explanation.

Galahad went tense beside Merlin, reaching out to grip the warlock's sleeve. "He's not part of the game," he whispered furiously, eyes growing wider. "Can you feel his magic? Smell it? That's all wrong. They've built up the game around him, but this isn't as safe as the rest."

"Thanks for the warning," Merlin said, smelling the danger in the smoke of the elf's magic and noting the soft glow around the squire seeming to diminish. He knew he couldn't do anything, but he raised a defensive hand anyway, twisting the other back so he had a hold on Galahad's tunic.

Gromer Somer Jour smiled at the small, nervous assembly and rocked back on his heels, cackling with delight. "I see you've brought a little entourage to watch you die, King Pendragon," he said in a sing-song voice.

Gwaine's nose wrinkled. "Don't get too hasty."

"We will defend our king or avenge his death," Leon said, stepping closer to the king once more.

The elf laughed. "What, with your swords all the way over there?" He pointed behind him.

Merlin smirked and concentrated, his eyes changing as he wordlessly sent the weapons soaring back into their owners' hands. Gromer caught on quickly and threw his own right hand into the air. The myriad of swords and daggers froze in mid-air. The smell of something dead wafted in, and all the air rushed out of the room. Before the men even had time to gasp, there was a quick popping sound and the blades flew all directions, away from both the knights and the elf, embedding themselves into walls. Fresh air came flooding back in. Merlin and Gromer were both lifted off their feet and thrown to the floor in opposite directions. Galahad was glad he'd had the presence of mind to let go of Merlin and wrench out of his grip when the swords first began to move. Now, ignoring the shouts of concern from the knights, he helped Merlin to his feet.

The warlock, out of breath and blushing, grinned sheepishly at the squire. "I'm fine, sorry," he told the others darting for him. He stood up straight and shrugged Galahad off of him, still blushing a furious dark red.

Gromer sat up with the same shamed blush and small smile. "Like oil and water," he gasped with a chuckle as he climbed back to his feet. "Elf magic and man's. And _what _a wallop, Emrys!"

"Er, thanks?" Merlin said, also beginning to giggle uncontrollably.

Arthur raised an eyebrow in quiet alarm and looked to Galahad and Percival for answers. "Power release makes them giddy," Percival explained after a second to connect to Munsalvaesche. "That could take a while to wear off."

So Merlin was going to be out of commission for the next few minutes. On the bright side, Gromer might be a bit weaker, too. "Can we just get on with this?" Arthur said, holding out a hand. Elyan handed him the first book.

"In a hurry to meet your maker?" the elfman asked, still grinning. "Oh, go ahead. Make me laugh." He chuckled again, and Merlin had to put a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

The king felt the curse leap over his heart again and threw out a hand to steady himself. The hand found Leon's shoulder, lingered there for a moment, then fell again. "Is there a limit to the number of answers I can give?"

Gromer shrugged. "Oh…hehehe…ordinarily I'd say yes, but I'm in a good mood now. Read to me."

Arthur took a deep breath, feeling Leon and Gwaine take a half-step toward him, supporting without touching. He opened the book and began to read, pitching his voice over Merlin's snickers.

"Wrong…no…not even close…" Gromer muttered with a laugh after each answer. About a third of the way through the first book, Tristan got bored and started poking around the workbench beside Galahad. By the time they finished the first book, Percival's eyes were lightly closed, a sign his mind was miles away, and Merlin's laughter was beginning to die down. As the opened the second book, Gwaine began to lose hope again. What if they had to use the hag's answer? What if the hag's answer was wrong? What would be worse—marrying a monster, or serving a Camelot without Arthur?

The king was sweating by the time they reached the third, smallest volume, unable to hide the tremor in his voice, and growing nervous at signs of Gromer's growing boredom. Merlin was alert again, but it was obvious there was nothing he could do, and he looked a bit lost. Only Galahad was steady—but only Galahad really had faith in Lady Ragnell's secret answer.

Three hours after they had arrived in the elf's home, Arthur swallowed a lump in his throat and closed the final book. Gromer had slouched into a chair with his feet on another table sometime during the second book, and began shucking a bucket of peas and throwing them at Tristan shortly after that. Now he popped the last one in his mouth, yawned, stretched, and smirked at the king. "Well?" he asked, with a shrug. "Don't you have any answers better than that?"

Gwaine closed his eyes as Arthur hesitated. "This is ridiculous," the king said. "Surely one of those answers is correct. We asked nearly every woman in all of Albion, for Camelot's sake."

Gromer raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "None of them have been the right answer. It's a simple enough question. _What do women want the most?_ The answer is simple, too."

"There's nothing simple about it!" Arthur burst and Merlin raised a hand again.

"I suppose my curse will take you, now," said Gromer, and this time, the sheer, unadulterated _greed _was clear on his face. "Yes, I shall kill you, and then I shall kill your adorable little knights, and then I'll take the scry you're hiding behind you, Emrys, and pluck out his eyes for an oracle." He grinned as Galahad paled and reached for Merlin's sleeve again. "Then I shall take you, Emrys, and all your human magic, and devour it. Your soul will cease to exist, but your empty body will go on living, doing what I tell it to. Then I shall send it with your king's dragon sword and make you conquer Camelot and its queen."

Merlin shuddered in panic and disgust, the fingers of his free hand twitching. Leon's face was blank, impassive, but his eyes were boiling over with hate. Tristan had frozen in the middle of shaking peas out of his hair. Percival had leaned back to Galahad and had protectively rested his hand on the boy's elbow. Elyan's hands were opening and closing as if he wanted to wrap them around Gromer's throat.

Gwaine simply leaned toward Arthur's ear. "Say it, Arthur," he insisted in a low hiss. "Try the crone's answer."

"Gwaine—" Arthur began, turning to the knight with large, regretful eyes. Whatever he wanted to say after that was silenced at the look on the man's face. He turned back to the elfman and squared his shoulders. "Sir Jour, may I be permitted one more try?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever you want. It won't matter anyway. What do women want the most, Arthur, King?"

"Their own will."

"Wr—" The elf froze and stood, his eyes suddenly huge and furious. "…What did you just say?"

Gwaine winced and looked down. Stomach twisting with guilt and hope, Arthur smiled. "I said, what women want the most is _their own will_."

Gromer's features twisted into something hideous and terrifying, and he seemed to grow. "Who told you that?" he snarled. "Who gave you that answer?"

"J-just some old woman on the road—"

"That's a LIE!" the elf roared, and the walls of his house began to shake. "It was my twice-cursed _sister _who told you to say that, the horrible old hag! I thought I'd _killed _her! I should have done it myself, when I had the chance. _Curse _you, Ragnell!" He screamed in rage and shook his fist at the ceiling, not seeming to notice the room turning a funny color and things beginning to fall off the walls.

"Get the dragon sword!" Merlin shouted to the stunned knights as he and Galahad raced toward the other side of the room, yanking daggers out of straw and mortar. Part of the roof fell near the center of the room, startling Arthur and the others into action. They sprinted for their weapons while Tristan began once again stuffing his pockets. The house was crumbling around them.

Gromer Somer Jour's voice, magnified in the din of the collapsing walls, echoed around the room. "You win, _Pendragon. _The Valley is yours, and I have _nothing. _I hope you're _happy. _I shall _kill _my sister next time I see her."

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled as the ground began to shake harder. "Where are we going?"

"Here, sire!" he heard the answering call across the way. He sheathed the sword and grabbed Gwaine's arm, who grabbed Leon's, who grabbed Elyan, making a human chain so as not to lose anyone. They met with the other chain of Tristan, Percival, Galahad, and Merlin, close to the place they'd first appeared. Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand, shouted something to Galahad, and _threw _himself at the closest wall. Galahad shouted something back, and the next thing the king knew, he was blinking in the light of day, in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The elf house was nowhere to be seen.

The men laid on the ground for several minutes, still clutching hands and elbows, coughing the dust out of their lungs. "Arthur?" Leon muttered. "The curse?"

Arthur gasped for breath, searching for the icy, uncomfortable feeling he'd been living with for months. "…Gone," he said. "It's gone. We're fine."

"Well, don't you lot just look as pathetic and stupid as can be?"

Gwaine's stomach plummeted to his feet at the sound of Ragnell's voice, already too familiar. He broke the chain, sitting up and glaring at the hag leaning against a stone just outside the Valley. "You," he growled.

"It was my answer that saved you, wasn't it?" she said with a smirk, snot and spittle dribbling into her mouth.

Percival sat and tried not to stare. Gwaine was doing enough of that as it was. "You could have told us Gromer was your brother," he said, trying to keep an even tone.

Ragnell's eyes darted between the other recovering knights, lingering on Galahad, Merlin, and Gwaine. "Now, that would have been _cheating,_" she said with a wink that was meant to be coy and was really just nauseating. "Why don't we go back to wherever it is you've hidden your horses? It's a fair distance to Camelot, and I'm rather excited about my wedding day."

* * *

**Just in case you haven't seen my profile, school's started back up for me and I'm getting into the swing of things. And graduating this semester, which means my classes are easier and I'm getting graduation anxiety and standardized tests to make up for that. And my muse has been flittering over a Cabinlock story the last week. Updates may still be like molasses for a little while, but I haven't forgotten you. I'm just drained. Love to all!**


	5. If You Love Something

**Argh, this chapter. Mixed feelings about it, but I'm pretty sure this is as good as it's going to get for now. Uncooperative characters. It was like pulling teeth to write this conversation, because Nell and Gwaine refused to talk to each other. No joke. I started this on Valentine's Day and only finished it today. Felt like throwing things at imaginary people. I've written future scenes with those two and I know very well how adorable they're going to be and they're CANON (ish, heh) for crying out loud, but putting them together like this was like water and oil. GAH. **

**But I'm going to stop ranting now and let you read. And no reconciliations this chapter, because it's basically me fleshing out the relationship in a way the original legends...didn't. Different standards, back then. **

* * *

They rode through the day, the first day, and camp that night was awkward and unwieldy with the Lady Ragnell Jour pitching her small tent as far from the rest as possible. She was ready to ride before any of them the next morning as well, and had prepared the rest of their horses before Galahad had breakfast made. The second day's ride, they assumed, would be just as awkward and resentful as the walk and camp as the previous day. It was, in the morning, anyway. After a quick, dry lunch, the men of Camelot sensed Gwaine's growing silence and surliness as an indication to _step away, step away quickly. _One by one, they urged their horses ahead of the false brunette and the hunchback until they had essentially formed two riding parties—five in the front, and two trailing behind by quite a distance. A fact that Gwaine despised and his betrothed seemed to find hilarious.

"Looks like it's just you and me for now," the old crone reached out and nudged his elbow with hers, wheezing in a way that almost seemed to be a chuckle.

Gwaine stopped himself from making a disgusted face just in time. He would be polite to this woman. He had too. He had a reputation to uphold—several, in fact. Gwaine, ladies' man, Gwaine; Knight of the Round Table; Gwaine, whose nobility comes from his actions. He still couldn't bring himself to be anything more than frostily polite to her. He didn't look at her, but did dip his head respectfully in acknowledgement of her words. "Indeed, Lady Ragnell."

The "lady" in question fell silent, a silence that was sudden and seemed unnatural or pained. "We need not be so formal," she said, speaking slowly. "We are going to be married. You can call me Nell."

"Nell?" he asked, struggling not to gag.

She smiled, even though he still wasn't looking. "Yes, Nell. It's what my family called me." He huffed in response, but didn't say another word. Her smile slipped, and she leaned ever so slightly towards him in her saddle. "…Didn't you ever have any family pet names?"

For several long seconds, she thought he would not speak. "…Gwin," he said at last, eyes on the road. "My brother Garis called me Gwin when he was still learning to talk. Sometimes he still does, if he's feeling poorly or emotional."

"How sweet." Nell waited in vain for him to speak again. She snuffled, sending a trail of snot back up her nose. "…You know, this could be a good thing. A marriage between us. It could be…advantageous for you." His hands tightened around the reigns and she wiped drool from her chin. "Caer Jour has been a prestigious and honored elf clan for centuries. To marry one of its daughters—"

"Honor, Lady Ragnell, is not something you were born with," he said shortly. "I don't care how fancy your whatever is—"

She snorted. "Caer. Means castle, or house. Elves use it for noble families."

"_Whatever," _he hissed, then took a deep breath, regaining control. "Your family doesn't matter to me. You could be the queen of all elves and I wouldn't care."

Her tusky smile softened into something that could almost be considered fond. "And by that argument, you wouldn't care if I were the illegitimate daughter of a milk maid, either."

"I've _courted _illegitimate daughters of milk maids who I liked better than some queens."

"And did you court the queens?"

Gwaine laughed before he could stop himself, his own mouth tilting into an amused smile before he realized who it was he was talking to. He looked sideways at her, surprised, before turning his attention to the front. "What about the species?" he asked. "Should humans really be marrying elves?"

"Humans and creatures of magic intermarry all the time," she said, waving her hand to the rest of the group. "Your Galahad there is one-sixteenth elf, of Caer Islir, no less. And look at Emrys and Lady Vivienne—Emrys is…well, Emrys is Emrys, I suppose, but _she_ was human when they fell in love. Mostly human. And then there's Sir Leon up there. From the stories I've heard about the way he dances with death and the shadows I can see flickering toward him, I wouldn't be surprised if the great de Kay line has a few drops of something just a bit _sinister_."

The knight in question seemed normal to Gwaine when he looked to the others. He felt a flicker of fear in his chest before driving it away with a snort of laughter. Leon just _couldn't _be evil, though perhaps that explained the sudden temper changes the older man sometimes went through. "Uther would have _loved _that."

Ragnell sniffed, wiped her chin, and scratched at some itch on her lower back. "And the ap Gywar family…"

The knight tensed. "Father was a poor warlord who became infatuated with the wrong woman. End of story. No magic or anything involved."

"No magic involved with your father, no, but that changed when he married your mother. He pulled her into the family and gave her his name, _your name_, and names have power…" She paused. "…Anna ap Gwyar is not unknown to us in Avalon. We called her Black Annas." She looked at Gwaine with sympathy in her watery, squinty eyes. "She's dead now. Quietus was always bound to weed out some of the bad with the good. I'm sorry."

He grunted. He'd always suspected, but hearing it from someone who sounded so sure made him feel…a bit better, if he was to be perfectly honest. One less thing to fear in the world. "Why? She was horrible."

"Yes, and she was your mother. I'm sorry." He fell silent and surly, clutching the reigns as if his life depended on it. He was getting ready to spur his horse to rejoin the others when she spoke again. "You know, the ap Gywar boys are famous in Avalon as well. Tell me about the mighty Lords of Orkney."

Gwaine frowned. "If we're so famous, shouldn't you already know about us?"

"From stories of the kindness and refuge the ap Gwyar boys, particularly the elder two, offered to the users of magic while Quietus and his Bear ravaged the land, yes. I'd like to hear _about _them now. After all, they're going to be my brothers, too."

"…Yes. Well…" He looked to the empty space on his other side rather than try to speak directly to her. "Strictly speaking, I'm the only lord of Orkney. Garis has Westmorland and G'reth and Gravain are too young to be involved. They're all in Westmorland now, Garis ruling and Gravain learning and G'reth chasing some woman around." His nose turned at the thought of anyone being interested in his ridiculous brother. "G'reth's an idiot, and I won't make apologies for him. Gravain's the youngest and he might turn out to actually do something with himself one day. And barring the Round Table, Garis is my best friend on earth." He turned his head front again. "…And what about your brother?"

This time her wheezing laugh had a hollow, broken sound to it. "My brother is insane," she rasped. The note of bitterness in her voice caught Gwaine's attention and he turned to her with something like curiosity on his face. "I'll never understand it. We were so close when we were young…something happened to him. He grew hard, callous. Mother thought perhaps Quietus or Nimue had found him and done something…" She shook her head again. "Truth is, Caer Jour is an ancient and respected family, but we are no longer a Caer. We can't be, after Gromer. He attacked innocents, mortals and magicals alike. He took lives…He killed our parents and very nearly killed me, but changed his mind, instead—" The crone broke off abruptly, hissing in what could have been pain. Gwaine noticed her biting her tongue with a snaggled tooth. "…I don't want to talk about it."

He turned away and shrugged as if it were nothing. "I've got a crazy sister, if it helps," he said, drawing her attention. "We don't like to talk about her. She inherited all of Father's insanity and paranoia and some of Mother's maliciousness, but not enough to make her dangerous. Just sort of…embarrassing. She lost it completely and ran off after Father died. I've no idea where she is now."

His betrothed chuckled. "What's her name?"

"Grenna. Father loved his G's."

"And he never got tongue-tied, calling you all?"

"We made sure never to all get in trouble at the same time."

She cackled this time, the wicked sound he remembered from their first meeting. He swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He had almost allowed himself to be…comfortable around her. Seeming to sense his sudden apprehension, Ragnell fell quiet and seemed almost disappointed, from the way her wide outline slouched at the corner of his vision. She straightened again. "I'm glad Gromer didn't give poor Arthur any longer than two months. I've always wanted a spring wedding."

Feeling nauseous, Gwaine didn't respond.

"I suppose there won't be much time to plan, but who needs to plan a magical wedding, anyway? Emrys will help. Or perhaps Lady Vivienne."

"You're expecting Freya?" Gwaine asked, tilting his head.

With a small smirk, she said, "Lady Vivienne has been very supporting of the surviving clan members. I don't think she'd miss my wedding." She shifted in the saddle, hands running over the jewel-blossoms unconsciously. "She stayed with me after Gromer…she helped me sort things out, even though she was busy."

The knight lifted his head, something just occurring to him. "He said he would kill you if he found you again."

Ragnell sniffed heavily after a moment of silence. "…He would," she muttered, and sighed, a deep, wet sound, as though her lungs were full of fluid. "And I would let him, I think."

His heart jumped at the horrible thought of _anyone_ simply _letting_ themselves be killed. He'd been alone and self-sufficient long enough for that to make him nervous. "Why?" he asked, shaking his head. "You've got to have some kind of magic like your brother's."

"I don't, actually. Gromer got the talent in the family. And even if I could…he's my brother. I couldn't hurt him."

He looked at her again and for the first time didn't shudder when he did. "…You love him."

She looked back. "Of course. If Garis hated you, would you stop loving him?"

Thoughts ran rampant at the question. Images flooded his mind of his brilliant, strong, dedicated little brother, changed, in pain, lashing out at him, cursing, swearing to kill him…Gwaine paled and looked down, blinking rapidly, his stomach churning against itself. He would let himself die, too, he realized. He would defend himself and eventually let Garis kill him rather than potentially injure the boy, and Gwaine would never stop loving him. He swallowed, head shooting up again as he came to another realization. His gaze found the back of Arthur's head and he swallowed again.

Ragnell was staring at him, eyes even narrower than usual. "…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, it's…I'm glad you said that," he answered, forcing himself to look at her.

She nodded, glancing down again. "I'm not saying I agree with him," she said quickly. "I don't. You _must_ believe that I support Avalon and Albion, no matter what…what else you may think of me." Gwaine found it easier to look at her without truly staring after that, pitying the poor hag. "And…I know I…I would understand, Sir Gwaine, if your loyalties did not lay with me after we were wed."

_Where _had he gotten that reputation? He'd never dabbled with other girls while courting one. _Never. _It _stung, _that all these people—even his friends, apparently—thought that of him, stung in a way that nothing else ever had. "Lady Ragnell," he said, voice icy, "Do you doubt my loyalty to Arthur?"

"Course not," she said with a snort. "Any clod could see you'd die for Albion."

"I believe in fidelity in all things."

Her beady eyes widened. "…This is…truly a sacrifice for you, isn't it?"

"Any clod could see I'd die for Albion," he answered. Her reaction was instantaneous—she sucked in a deep breath and flinched as though he'd struck her. Gawain blushed and fixed his gaze on Tristan, riding a good two horselengths in front of him. He wished there was a tavern nearby. This was worse than any three day political meeting.

After a minute of silence, Ragnell lifted her head again and stared at him, gripping her reigns just as hard as he'd held his before. "You're not as righteous as you think you are," she hissed, spit flying.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, hollow.

"You talk about judging people by their actions and motives, and not by their station in life. But you are disgusted by me. You judge me by something far worse than family or birthright." She took a deep breath, the liquid-y sound louder.

He snorted at her, blush growing. "Your actions haven't exactly been pure, my lady. You made me choose between my happiness and my king."

"How do you know you won't be happy?" she spat. "And what of my happiness?"

"You _suggested _this arrangement. If you didn't want it, why didn't you just _give _Arthur the answer?"

"It doesn't work like that!" she burst, making Tristan, Percival, and Galahad turn around to look at the two lagging behind. Tristan looked away again, tsking in pity, while Galahad was hiding a grin. He reached out and tapped Percival's arm, making a face at the curious knight. When the three began ignoring them again, Ragnell leaned toward Gawain, eyes flashing. "Magic racks debt, _especially _elf magic. You _can't _play with causes and effects like that. It's too dangerous."

Gawain tossed his head and stared at her. "Then why me? Why not ask for _anything else at all?_"

"Because—" she broke off, hissing again. "Forget it. I thought—it doesn't matter."

"No, tell me," the knight said, shifting as his horse nickered at the uncomfortable voices.

She growled in frustration, hands running over the jewels on her saddle again. "Because I felt like I already knew you," she creaked. "Arthur is adored by magic, and therefore, his knights are, too. There have been fairy eyes on you, on all of you, ever since you first made that vow. For those of us trapped behind Avalon's doors…hope, prophecy, and the stories of the kindness and greatness of Arthur's Circle carried us through the Purge and the breaking of the Sidhe Eldership."

Touched despite himself, Gwaine's blush returned and he refused to look at her. "That still doesn't explain why you insisted on wanting to marry me. If you didn't want this—"

"I'm—" She straightened in the saddle before letting her thick shoulders slump forward. She tried to speak several times, her mouth opening and closing several times before a strangled noise finally escaped. "…It's complicated."

"Oh, please—" Neither of them noticed that they were approaching the outskirts of Camelot until the gasps began. Gawain looked up and looked around, surprised again. "Sweet Camelot, how long were we talking?" he muttered as the walls outside the Lower Town and setting sun floated into view beyond the smaller village they walked through.

Ragnell scowled at the villagers. They had come to watch the knights riding through and stayed to stare in open-mouthed horror at the crone trailing behind the procession. She set her shoulders and snarled as a small child began to cry somewhere off to the side. Gwaine glanced toward her when he heard the small, angry sound, and only _then _noticed the gaping mouths surrounding the hideous woman. He watched, pensive, as she stared hard at the back of her horse's head and fixedly ignored the muttering and retching rising up from the townsfolk. They were almost through the village when some of the older children began openly jeering, slinging around words like _witch _and _hag _and _disgusting frog_. His thoughtful watching turned into something more when the children followed them _out _of the village, suddenly armed with an abundance of rotten vegetables. Ragnell hunched further down as the stinking projectiles filled the air, though it was impossible to make herself a smaller target. Gwaine hadn't been sure the laughing youths would really go through with it when they gathered their weapons. The first tomato to hit Ragnell's hunch surprised him, the second riled his temper. A cabbage and an egg flew past his ear as he turned his horse toward the ruffians, blocking their aim and giving them his most fierce look. The children froze and, after a few moments of nervous shuffling, ran back to their parents. When the knight pulled up on the woman's opposite side, she was staring at him, her watery eyes dark and piercing.

"…What?" he asked, shrugging.

She smiled, and this time he wasn't nearly as repulsed as before. "…Thank you."

He shrugged again. "No one deserves that."

"No one's ever done that before." She cocked her head at him, smile slipping a bit. "I'd say I'd gotten used to welcomes like that...but the truth is, it's still horrible." He grunted, blushing again. She slurped a string of drool back into her mouth and took a deep breath. "…I asked for you because for me, the battle isn't over yet," she said in a rush. "I needed a different sort of hope."

"That doesn't make any sense," Gwaine said gruffly.

After another quiet minute, she sighed. "…You're right, though," she rasped, blinking back a tear. "This…arranged marriage…I shouldn't have done this."

Gwaine's neck cracked as he whirled to her in surprise. She did not look up from the road, her shoulders still hunched. "I threatened you, and I forced you into this by threatening Arthur and Albion. It was wrong of me. I could have found another way, another thing to trade for Gromer's defeat, but I was…I was running out of time. It's not an excuse. There are no excuses. I am sorry. I absolve you of your vow, Sir Gwaine. I will not bind you to me. You do not have to marry me."

His eyebrows shot into his bangs as a sweeping feeling of _freedom _filled his stomach, chased back again by her previous words. "…But…what about the trade? Not getting something for nothing?"

She shrugged. "I'll manage. It'll be dangerous, but I'll manage."

Gwaine studied her expression, then glanced to Galahad, talking to Elyan and still hiding a smile, then to Merlin who, judging by the way he jumped and whipped his head around, had been studying the pair of them together for the entirety of the trip, then to Arthur who led the way. His thoughts twisted and tumbled through his head, fighting like clawed beasts. He'd never met a woman before that he really felt…comfortable enough with to even consider marrying. He dallied, yes, but it was dallying only. In fact, he'd _felt _more, and more often, in the last day with Ragnell than he had with anyone else. If they had met under different circumstances, and, Gwaine thought with a guilty prickling to the back of his neck because she was _right _before and he was _ashamed_, if he had been blind or Ragnell had looked less like a troll, perhaps they could have been friends. Friends was quite a nice word for it, in fact, and he knew few marriages started off on quite as good a footing as that. He started to speak, then paused, thinking back to another bit of conversation. "Nell, do you _want _to marry me?"

The question caught her off guard, and her eyes widened. "…I…yes. Yes, I think I do."

He nodded. "Then my vow stands." He _almost _smiled as she looked at him, disbelief shining on her wet face. "I gave you my word. I've never broken it before, and I'd rather not start now. Just…" he added as she started to smile. "One thing. No offense, but I'd _really _rather not have to kiss you."

She grinned, flicking a bit of tomato peel off her shoulder. "Then I shall see you at our wedding tomorrow."

It wasn't until he tried to go to bed that night that he realized he'd called her Nell.

* * *

**If anyone wants to know, there ought to be about three chapters left in this story; the wedding, the wedding night, and a future shot that reveals the first part of something I've actually been foreshadowing since Galahad's intro in "The Secrets We Keep." If you know the legends, you know where it's going. **


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